The American Child
by JossyRose
Summary: England: the pirate, the gentleman, the settler. Everything changed on the day when he met that little boy, his baby brother. On the day he became a parent. America: a little boy with a very interesting childhood.
1. Thunder

**A/N So I actually wrote these about a month ago but never posted them, so a bunch of chapters will probably be posted rapidly tonight before I go to sleep. I also have a lot of other Hetalia one-shot stories going on throughout my many school notebooks (because that's what I do during AP English and math). So basically, these are just a bunch of stories centered around America (and usually England) from the time he was found by England (so two years in my opinion) to the Revolutionary war (so seventeen years in my opinion).**

**Listen to "Lullaby for a stormy night" while reading this. I love this song and I can very well picture Britain singing this to little 'Murica. Preferably listen to the male version.**

Rain slapped against the window glass harshly, blurring America's view of the outside world. The blue-eyed child stared fearfully at the water, tensely awaiting the dreaded flash and boom he was positive was about to come. With a roar of thunder, lightning illuminated the sky, emitting a shriek from the small child.

"England!" the boy cried as he ran out of the room, his white nightshirt trailing behind him, his tiny feet clacking against the chilled, wooden floor.

The British man was staying for a few days, and was currently asleep in the spare room he had for himself. However, at the calling of his little brother, England's paternal instincts kicked in and he was startled out of dreamland. He literally leapt out of the comforting warmth of his bed and burst through the door of his room, halting abruptly in order to avoid trampling his little charge, who was standing at the door, wide-eyed and weeping.

"Whatever is the matter, little one?" he questioned gently, drawing the little boy in his arms.

"I-I…'m scared. Loud!" the hysterical child cried.

"You're afraid? Of what-the storm?"

America nodded, his sobs turning to sniffles and his tears drying. Everything was alright, now that he was with his big brother.

"Shh, little child. My little brother. The storm shan't harm you, little America."

England soothed the young nation back to sleep and crawled into his own bed with tiny America still in his loving embrace.


	2. It's a cookie

"Britain, can I have a biscuit? Please?"

The island nation looked up from his book and at his young charge with a slight sigh. He loved the boy, but the child had been pestering him all afternoon about the sweet treat.

"First of all, America, it is 'may I have a biscuit', not 'can I'. 'Can' implies you are wondering about your own capability of retrieving a cookie, which I presume you are able enough to do."

"And second off?"

"No, love, you may not have a biscuit before supper time."

With a whine of protest and grumble, the eight year old child stalked out of the room, back to the kitchen, where the tantalizing jar of sweets stood, tempting him, taunting him.

"Hmm…all Britain said was that I couldn't...(mouldn't? No, that's not a word)…couldn't have a 'biscuit' before supper. But what if it wasn't called a biscuit?"

England's home was quiet, serene, peaceful. Then, it no longer was. The clattering of silverware from the kitchen alarmed the country and he rushed to see what the commotion was. Drawers were out and askew to form steps, a metal ladle from the countertop was on the floor, and sitting on the counter, next to the biscuits, was a wide-eyed, naughty child who had, quite literally, been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Britain!" the startled child voiced.

"America, I thought I told you, you are not permitted to have a biscuit before supper," the blonde scolded, grabbing the boy around the waist.

"But it's not a biscuit, Britain, it's a cookie!"

"Honestly, I cannot fathom where you get these ideas," England huffed, striding out of the kitchen, reprimanding America the whole way.

Later on that night, after America had been put to bed, England was still mulling over the whole ordeal in his mind.

"He must've gotten it from France," he finally decided, ignoring the fact that the child hadn't seen the Frenchman in nearly a year.


	3. Tea vs Coffee

"England? You're always drinkin' tea. Can I have some?" a five year old boy asked.

"Of course, love. Here, you may have a sip of mine, just don't spill it."

The excited kid drew in a mouthful of the bitter liquid and immediately his face scrunched up in distaste.

"Do not spit it out, America. If you do not enjoy the taste, swallow quickly." England advised, not wishing to be cleaning tea off the floor or furniture.

America heeded the elder's instructions and disgustedly gulped down the unsweetened drink, "Ick! Can I go play outside, Britain?"

"Yes, yes. Just don't wander off."

"Okay, England, I won't."

The boy ran out the front door and walked around in front yard, but he quickly became bored. Eventually, he followed the dirt road that led from his home to town and ended in a small, family run café. America climbed on one of the splintered, wooden stools and looked up at the beautiful woman pouring a cup of coffee for a middle aged gentleman plopped down on another stool.

"Hello, pretty lady," America greeted with a grin, "what's that in the cup?"

The woman laughed melodiously, "Why, hello there, cute little boy. That would be coffee."

"Is it like tea?" the boy asked, his face automatically contorting from the traumatizing memory of the horrid taste of Britain's drink.

"Well, a bit, I suppose."

The child stuck out his tongue, though England had told him countless times that it was rude and ungentlemanly. Still, curious as he was, he requested a mug.

"Can I have some?"

"Some coffee? My child, you are far too young for such a-"

"But Britain let me have some tea!" he protested.

"Britain?"

"My big brother. He's a grown up."

"And did you like the tea?"

America shook his head.

"Then you won't like coffee."

"Please?"

With a sigh, the woman agreed, but she only poured a tiny bit of coffee in the cup and filled the rest with milk and a lot of sugar, handing the concoction to the little boy. After all, she had a daughter just a little older than him, so she knew how to cover up nasty flavors and appeal to a child's sweet tooth.

"Thank you, pretty lady!"

"Please, just call me Virginia."

America nodded and guzzled down the coffee-milk lovechild before returning home.

"America!"

"Uh oh."

"I have been searching for you, young man. I told you not to wander off. Where were you?"

Britain stared down at the boy, hands on his hips, green yes blazing intently with recently extinguished worry.

"I was having coffee."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow, bemused, "And how did you like that?"

"Very much! A lot better than that yucky tea!"

America ran inside giggling while England gaped.


	4. Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?

Little America was five years old, or at least, he appeared to be only five. Countries aged differently than humans, so the boy was actually far older than five. Even so, he seemed five, and, like many five year olds, he was bored.

"Britain?" the little boy called, knocking on the door of his big brother's study, "it's snowing outside. Wanna build a snowman?"

"Not now, America. I'm busy…and speak properly."

"Oh, okay."

"You may play in the snow by yourself, though. Just be sure to dress well."

America nodded sadly, though Britain could not see, and followed his guardian's advice, going outside in warm clothes to build a snowman himself.

America was ten. He stared wistfully out the window at the frozen precipitation drifting through the air. Britain was in his study and not to be disturbed lest it was for an emergency, but the boy couldn't himself; to him, it was an approached the island nation's study and rapped on the wood door.

"England? It's snowing and I thought…maybe you could take a break and come build a snowman with me?"

Britain sighed and paused from his work, "Not now, America. I'm sorry but I am simply too busy."

America sniffled and left without saying a word.

It was snowing. Frost laced the window and the ground was blanketed with the chilly, white substance. Fifteen year old America sighed. There was no use going outside.

"America?"

The teenager looked up, sadness in his blue eyes piercing his guardian's green ones.

"Do you want to build a snowman?"

The boy's eyes lit up and he smiled, nodding vigorously.


	5. Krampus

"Keseseseseseseses! America! Open zhe door; I am here to visit du!"

Eleven year old America stood from his spot on the floor where he was studying, stretched, and allowed the familiar voice in. Prussia had known the Newfound land since he was little, often being at France's when the boy would visit Canada.

"Hi, Prussia."

"Guten tag, kind," the albino nation greeted, "Frohe Weihnachten!"

"Eh…wha-?"

"Keseseses! Merry Christmas!"

"Oh, Merry Christmas," the pre-teen smiled, but it was strained and forced.

"Hm? Vhat's wrong? It's almost Weihnachten, how can you be sad?"

"Huh? Oh, it's nothing. It's just, Britain's not gonna make it for Christmas this year, and I was kinda hoping he'd be here."

"He von't come?"

"He can't."

"Vell, I'm not Britain, but I'm here! How about a tell you about some traditions from my countr-…uh, Vest's country? To cheer you up."

America nodded, smiling slightly, "Alright."

"Gut, come here, kind," the Prussian motioned for the boy to come closer, "I vill tell you about a figure from my home, Krampus."

"Cramp-oos?" America raised an eyebrow.

"Krampus. You know about St. Nicholas, ja?"

"Yeah…England told me 'bout 'im."

"Vell, did you know zhat St. Nick has a companion named Krampus? Vhile St. Nicholas is busy revarding zhe gut kinder, Krampus punishes zhe naughty vones."

"P-pu-punishes?" America gaped.

"Ja, ja," Prussia nodded, "Krampus beats naughty kinder vith a bundle of svitches and takes zhem back to his lair vhere he eats zhem, drowns zhem, burns zhem, impales zhem, hangs zhem…or…"

"O-o-or?" the young nation's eyes had widened with each scenario given, and at this point, he honestly didn't want to know.

"…he drags zhem to Hell!" Prussia cackled wickedly.

America shrieked and kid under the table.

"P-Prussia? Is Cramp-us real?"

"Ja, I zhink so. Vell, I suppose I'll be off. Guten nacht, kind. Frohe Weihnachten!"

England was cursing slightly as he trudged through the snow toward the home of his charge. He couldn't miss another Christmas with the boy; it would break his heart. The blonde nation knocked on the wood door, startling the boy inside.

"Y-yes?"

"Britain raised an eyebrow; the boy sounded terrified.

"America, is everything alright?"

At the voice of his caretaker, America rushed to the door and swung it open, tears in his eyes.

"My dear boy, whatever is the matter with you?"

"I'm sorry!" the child shouted, throwing his arms around the older country.

"W-what? America, sorry for what?"

"I'm sorry for missing my studies, and skipping my chores, and I'msorryforsneakinganextracookie and-and-and I'm sorry! Just don't let Cramp-us take me!"

"Don't let who take you? America, calm down. What on Earth are you talking about?"

"C-Cr-Crampus. He-he goes with St. Nicho-las and-and spanks and kills bad kids. Please, don't let him take me!"

"Where did you hear this?"

"Prussia," America sniffed.

"Of course," England sighed, "America, Krampus is not real. He is simply a legend fabricated by the Germans to frighten children into behaving. Do you really think such a benevolent man as St. Nicholas would allow such a demon to torment children, even they have behaved poorly?"

"W-well…no."

"See then, there is nothing to be frightened of. Now what's this I hear of incomplete studies and stolen biscuits?"

"Huh? E-eh…nothing."

"Hey, dude!" America shouted, "Look what I made! I call him Santa Claus!"

A newly independent America shoved a picture of a crudely drawn man with a fluffy white beard and red suit carrying a sack of gifts into England's face.

"You can't just change St. Nicholas," Britain seethed, crossing his arms, "I am going to tell him about this, this instant. See if you get any gifts for Christmas."

England stalked off while America shouted, "Whatever man, I don't need presents from him; Santa will bring me stuff!"

**A/N Before anyone decides to lecture me on Krampus, yes I realize that he is not specifically located just in Germany. The Nordic region, parts of the Baltics, Hungary, Austria, and a few other countries around that region also use the legend or at one time used the legend. Fun fact, in Scandinavia, Krampus is actually the grandson of Loki, son of Hel (I believe it was Hel, but I could be wrong about that part).**

**Also, this is similar to how I reacted when I was twelve and first found out about Krampus. I didn't actually start freaking out to my parents and apologizing and admitting trespasses left and right, but I was kind of freaked on the "off chance that he's real" and decided I didn't want to take any chances. **

**This was also written a little over a month ago. (Actually, we're starting to get onto almost two months the closer it gets to Halloween.)**


	6. A la Mode

**A/N This is highly based around Charlie learning American slang with his friend (Michael?) and thinking A la Mode pertained to the God Allah. I could see Britain thinking the same thing. Also, this is one of the newer ones; I wrote this only about two weeks ago.**

"Alright, America, you behaved splendidly today so, as promised, I'll buy you something sweet," Britain said as he walked through the marketplace with his pre-teen brother.

"Woohoo!" the kid screeched, pumping his fist into the air and making England regret this already, "Can I have a pie?"

"You may have a _piece _of pie."

"Cool. Can I have apple?"

"Any flavor you want."

"Hmm…in that case, can I have cotton candy flavored pie?"

"Any flavor they _have _that you want."

"Oh, okay. I'll have apple then."

When they reached the pie shop, America let go of his caretaker's hand and rushed in, staring longingly at each flavor, wishing he could have them all.

"Can I have it a la mode?" he asked Britain, who raised a puzzled eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"A la mode."

"Allah? How is a deity involved with ordering a slice of apple pie?"

The boy couldn't help himself; he burst out laughing, confusing his guardian all the more.

"It means 'with ice cream'."

"Well, how the bloody Hell does Allah connect to ice cre-"

"A la. A-space-l-a-space-mode."

"Fine, get the pie with ice cream, but don't go up there spouting your nonsense about Gods. Just say 'with ice cream'."

America smiled and nodded, containing the laughter which was still bubbling up inside him. The boy ran up and ordered a slice of apple pie 'with ice cream' ('so you want it a la mode?' the later had asked, causing the kid to turn to his guardian with a smirk who face-palmed) and sat down, deciding then and there that this was going to be his national dessert when he became a country someday.


	7. Fighting Irish

England was not happy. He was not happy because two of his older brothers, Scotland and Ireland, were coming over, whether he liked it or not, and he didn't. America was excited though; the little bugger had only met the pair once when he was very little.

A knock at the door and England groaned internally before gently setting down his tea and standing to answer the door. But his charge beat him to it.

"Scottie! Ireland!" the boy shouted, swinging the wooden barrier open and leaping into Ireland's arms.

Scotland chuckled. England crossed his arms; America never greeted _him _in such a manner. The older nation's stepped into America's house, out of the crisp, fall air of New England.

"How do you like my home, Ire?" America questioned with a grin.

"I really enjoy it actually. Think ah migh' stay a while. Boston, righ'?"

"Uh huh! It's called Boston! If you like it, you should come a lot."

"Ireland visits an awful lot; do you know why, Britain?" America asked one day at an Allies meeting.

"How the bloody Hell would I know, wanker? Besides, it's your fault for telling him he should visit often."

"Dude, I was like six. 'Sides, I'm not complaining; without him, I wouldn't have Dropkick Murphies."

**A/N Written weeks ago. When I wrote down Scottie as a nickname for Scotland, all I could think of was Star Trek. And yes, the title is a reference to the sport's team. **


	8. Babysitting

**A/N Written a few weeks ago. Sorry for my horrid writing of a Scottish accent.**

"Bugger, where'd t'e lad go?" Scotland muttered before a few choice words.

Ireland panted and wiped away the sweat accumulating on his forehead. The laughing of a small child startled the three and caused them all to turn just in time to see a dirty blonde cowlick disappear.

"Wales, wake up," Ireland said to his brother while Scotland chased after the American child.

"Nngh."

"Wake up."

"Go away, leprechaun."

Ireland huffed but left the other male on the couch in favor of helping his older brother track down a hyperactive little boy. Wow, he loved the kid, but he really wished England had not asked them to babysit. What did they know about kids? Nothing. If they knew how to handle children, England would have turned out much better than he did.

"I'm gonna beat that kid when I find him," Scotland growled.

"No you aren't, England would have your head, and probably mine too for lettin' ya. 'Sides, the laddie's just havin' a round of fun, can't blame 'im for that."

"Sure I can. Now where is he?"

"What makes ya think I know?"

Britain returned later that day to find his house in shambles and a fuming redhead with little America tossed carelessly over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Ireland was out of breath and seemed very tired. Wales, on the other hand, seemed completely refreshed and energetic, having just awoken from his nap and not knowing a thing about what had gone on while he was in dream land.

"We. Are. Never. Watching. That. Lad. Again." Scotland said, handing the boy to his little brother.

Ireland nodded.

"I thought the boy was fine," Wales said, smiling.


	9. Z

"A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P," a very young America recited in a steady rhythm. The little boy appeared to be but three years old, but being a country, he had to have been much older than that, "Q, R, S, T, U, V, W, X, Y…"

The American paused.

"Zed," England encouraged.

"Z…Ze…Zee…"

"Zed."

"Z-Ze."

"Zed."

"Zee."

Britain sighed, "Close enough, chap. We'll work on that."

**A/N Yes, I know, drastically short. But hey, there is only so much I can write on this subject. What else was supposed to happen.**

**Well, I guess I could have had older America teasing Britain about the whole thing later. I might make another one shot about that in "Stars and Stripes".**


End file.
